


We Rest The Weary

by Thiebes



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, forgiving and not forgiving, restless memories, silverflint, thomas wasn't there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thiebes/pseuds/Thiebes
Summary: Yet another post-canon reunion fic.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	We Rest The Weary

Flint didn’t know why he was here. He followed his feet as they took him through the roughly cobbled streets of the old town. It was close enough to the sea that the stones were nearly lost in the layer of sand that brushed in from the beach. He brushed a finger over the hilt of the sword in his belt as he walked, a small comfort to quell the shaking in his bones that had plagued him since he had heard the name in whispers.  _ His name. _ Long John Silver. 

The afternoon sun was waning, nothing left of it but the shadow it cast in it’s absence on the rooftops, and a dim orange glow on the horizon. 

Flint’s mind was swirling. In memory, in regrets. He held within him an ache from the hole Silver left in his wake all those years ago, and every utterance of his name pulsed through him, shattering the sense of calm he had carefully built over the emptiness. 

James had been betrayed many times in his life. He had lost things he felt were inalienable to him. And he had pushed through, fueled by rage and indignity, to be more than he was. And it had been enough. 

And then Silver had looked at him with those eyes in the forest, pistol in hand, and shattered him to pieces. And Flint had understood the plea in his eyes and the shake of his voice that he was shattering himself as well. Tearing down the walls of everything they had built together in the dark. He had never forgotten that look. He replayed it in his mind over and over, like some kind of torture, trying to find another way it could have ended. What more could he have done? 

In the back of his mind, Thomas chuckled at him.  _ “ Still looking for answers in the wrong places, my love.”  _

Up ahead the bustle of the street gave way to raucous laughter spilling from the tavern. The road was dark, but the tavern lanterns had been lit, casting a warm glow for him to follow. He halted his steps for a moment. He knew what he would inevitably find there. It was the closest drinking hole to the port. 

He thought of Silver in that place, basking in the light of a life he never wanted, with a title he didn’t quite earn, like nothing had ever happened. He thought of the life they had been building together, and how easily it could be reduced to nothing. How all of the times he had given himself to hope, it was only to be dashed against an unfeeling tide of loss. He was stoking his own rage, he knew. It was easier than the trepidation he felt before. A shield against his own vulnerability. 

Armed with his rage, his hand on his hilt, he stepped into the tavern. 

==

John Silver’s voice punctured through the rabble of drunken laughter and chatter that filled the tavern. He wasn’t particularly loud, but this timbre rang clear and almost musical as he told stories of their latest endeavors, the other patrons around him hanging on to the sound as if he held them on a string.

This was how he knew to get to the hearts of men. He soothed them like a siren’s call or brought them to tears as readily as a church choir during mass. The ease of it struck him sometimes with a strange sort of sadness. It kept him apart from them as much as it held them to him. There had been only a few men to resist his charm, those he considered allies and friends, and all of them had been left behind or had perished. 

Silver’s words trailed off as Pierce’s expression shifted from casual to alert. His eyes narrowed and he reached for his weapon. Silver could hear heavy footsteps heading their way behind him. He tensed. 

A hand gripped his shoulder. 

\--

Silver turned, quick as a whip, his sword a flash in the low lamp light and his pistol cocked. His eyes glowed in the darkness with a savage frigidity that sent a chill up his spine. This was not the Silver he had last seen on Skeleton Island. He looked like a beast.

But just as suddenly, he softened. The blade at Flint's throat slacked, pistol clinked to the floor. There was something about the way that Silver looked at him now that sent needles tearing into his heart. Flint's gaze was stuck. He couldn't wrench his eyes from Silver's long enough to blink. Whatever words were on his tongue a second ago felt like ash in his mouth. Where did he put all that anger?

"You came back," Silver's voice was the barest whisper, rough and deep in his throat. He looked like he dared not breathe, lest it break the spell between them.

The tavern was quiet. All eyes were on the two of them now, no one daring to move or speak. Waiting.

At last, Flint had calmed his stomach enough to reply.

" I have." He said simply.

" Have you come to kill me?" There was no malice in Silver's statement, but still Flint narrowed his eyes. Silver lifted his chin, exposing the soft skin of his neck to Flint's blade. Is this a challenge?

Flint allowed himself to break their eye contact to look, taking in the soft movement of Silver's breathing. The tip of his sword was just millimeters from touching his skin, and Flint curled his lip as he fought with himself. He had no idea what he wanted in this moment. He could kill Silver right here, for everything he had done. He could end this, and forever silence that nagging voice in the back of his head that kept him awake at night all these years. It would be so easy. 

He shifted his grip on the sword, letting it brush against Silver's exposed neck ever so slightly, and Silver shivered. "You have every right to," he said softly.

Silver's expression was unreadable, but his words twisted in Flint's chest, as if he were the one being skewered. It had mirrored the same argument he had rattling in his head. That Silver's betrayal warranted death. That he deserved it for taking away his freedom and the hope for a better world that the war would have afforded them. It definitely would have come to that if it were anyone else. Had been, even, many times. But the words coming from Silver's mouth had a bitterness to it that cut through all of Flint's thoughts. Bitterness not aimed at Flint, but at himself. And a resignation. Silver also thought he deserved it.

And that thought left Flint stuck in his tracks. He remembered a warm night far away, the two of them huddled in a cage of bamboo, one of them heavy with the same resignation of death, the other gently suggesting life, and the ache of it bored into his soul.

Whatever it was between them was enough to pull them both from the brink of death, time and time again, only to end up here? Like this?

If the tension in the room had been thick before, it was wholly suffocating now. He both perceived a room full of eyes boring into them, hands reaching for weapons, and yet felt that he and Silver were the only two people in the world at this moment. 

He felt the seconds tick by as he struggled. He watched the slow, careful heave of Silver's chest as he drew breath. He had never hesitated like this before. Had the persona of Flint truly slipped so far from memory? Or--

"Flint."

Silver's voice cut through his thoughts. Whispers flitted around the tavern at his name. Movement in the background. He had waited too long.

"James," Silver spoke again, in the same soft but strangled tone from earlier. He leaned forward, pushing back into the blade, still not enough to break the skin, but just barely. Flint felt his sword arm start to shake.

Silver shifted his weight slowly, preparing to take a step forward. "James, I-"

He was cut off by a shout on the left. Reacting to the movement more than by sight, Flint flung himself to the side, sword at the ready, narrowly dodging a swipe of a knife. He turned again towards his attacker, only to see him pinned against the wall, the knife clattering to the floor. Silver had his hand over the man's throat, and a snarl on his lips as he pressed him against the wood. " No one touches this man," he growls, and a shiver goes through Flint's body at the sound.

"Y-yes, captain, sorry captain," The man sputters and chokes, lifting his hands meekly in surrender, with not a small amount of fear in his eyes. The tavern is silent again.

Silver knocks him back on the wall once more for good measure, and releases his grip. The man scurries away into the crowd, and Silver straightened himself on his crutch.

"I'm sorry about that, " Silver says, as if the interruption had been nothing but a slight intrusion. He turns to face Flint, and Flint blanches.

"What?" Silver narrows his eyes in concern. He doesn't feel the slow drip of blood sinking down to his collar.

"Silver, you're bleeding." Flint bites out. He places his hand on his own neck like a mirror. The spot where Flint's own blade had pressed against Silver's neck was now slick with red. Mimicking Flint, he pulls his fingers away, and he sees the blood on his fingers, and his eyes widen, just enough for Flint to catch the expression.

Fuck.


End file.
